


The Rust That Consumes the Iron

by poisontaster



Series: Light 'Verse [12]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Jealousy, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Post-Divorce, Sibling Incest, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-20
Updated: 2006-11-20
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:52:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5422985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even after the divorce, Lena's still playing games.  And Dean seems content to play along, damn him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Rust That Consumes the Iron

**Author's Note:**

> This story makes a significant time jump and includes details that will seem to come out of nowhere. Just go with it, okay?

Yelena sits down at the table, her ginger ale held between her small hands. "Thank you," she says, demure and kittenish, slanting Dean coy glances out the corners of her eyes. It makes him sick.

And really, even though that's enough to make Sam—forgotten in the corner of the kitchen with his coffee—gag, what's worse and hurts much more is the soft and solicitous way Dean's handling her, the look he's giving back. Sam knows that look. He's seen it directed at him often enough; Dean is turned on. Really, really turned on. Turned on by Lena. His faithless, horrifying, evil _whore_ of an ex-wife.

And the ugly, throbbing spike of jealousy in Sam's heart kind of takes him by surprise with its intensity, no longer leashed or mitigated by the circumstance of 'well, she's his wife'. She's _not_ his wife anymore, Dean is _his_ and Sam feels an alpha male-type growl building in his throat and chest in the desire to assert that fact clearly and in no uncertain terms. He wants to strip Dean naked and display the marks of his fingers on Dean's back and hips, the bruised kisses on Dean's thighs and say to her, "I did this, bitch. _I did_." And then he wants to bend Dean over the table and fuck him long enough and hard enough that the only words out of Dean's mouth will be _Sam, yes; Sam, please_.

But these are not the things that brothers do.

Not even brothers who fuck.

Sam watches Lena laugh and put her hand on Dean's shoulder with helpless fury, his fingers closed so tight around his mug, they ache. He wonders if this is how Dean felt when Joshua was coming around all the time; frantic and angry, half-panicky.

 _You love me. You love **me**_ , he thinks, clutching the memory of that time. Dean would manhandle him somewhere with only a marginal amount of privacy and fuck Sam until he couldn't stand up straight, let alone walk. He'd marked Sam up until Sam's boss took him aside and asked him, all quiet-like, if Sam was having trouble at home. Sam would make plans to see Joshua—admittedly, mostly to provoke just this response—and Dean would tie him up or just hold him down, so Sam couldn't leave, couldn't go.

_How can you be attracted to her? That bitch? After all she did?_

But he only has to look at Lena to know the answer, her rounding belly already pushing out from under her too short tee. She's pregnant. And more, she's pregnant with Dean's child. Dean's always been a sucker for a breeding woman; he remembers when Lena was pregnant before, the way Dean falls into her orbit like a moon, always fondling, touching, kissing, marveling and looking like her like she was the only thing in the world.

The back of his throat feels sour. Sam reflects bitterly that he doesn't even have the option of handling the situation the same as Dean 'punished' him for Joshua, because in the ultimate scheme of things, Joshua doesn't matter. If he finds out that Sam is so demented as to fuck his own brother, he'll be shocked and scandalized but there isn't much Joshua can do about it.

Lena, though. Lena matters.

Because Lena has the power to take away Dean's kids.

And that can't happen.

Sam doesn't even like to conjecture what Dean would do, say, feel if he loses custody of his children. Purely aside from his selfish suspicious that Dean would never forgive him and the fragile thing between them would be broken forever, Sam doesn't like to think of what would become of the kids if they're left in Lena's care full-time. Lena doesn't really want them. She's made that abundantly clear since the divorce. But she'll take them, just to fuck with Dean and Sam damn well knows it. And so Sam's relegated to the corner to choke on it like a bone in his throat.

Afraid he's going to do something both unwise and extremely dangerous—like chuck his mug at her head—Sam puts it down roughly, slopping coffee onto the counter. He leaves it there and exits the kitchen. Neither Lena or Dean seems to notice.

He thinks about going upstairs and checking on the kids but he's really not in the best frame of mind for that. To be a good uncle. So he walks out the front door instead, unsure where he's going. It's still hot outside; Sam's shirt sticks to his back and ribs, presses his hair flat to his scalp. It's the kind of weather where all you want to do is lie flat on a porch swing or hammock and wait until nightfall, but instead, Sam takes off at a brisk walk. Mrs. Steinback is out on her porch, fanning herself with a paper fan that she probably got from church. She waves at him and Sam grits his teeth and waves back because what the neighbors think is just as important as what Lena thinks and what he wants—what he _needs_ —them to think is: _what nice young men._

After that, he doesn't see anyone he knows but he's not looking, either, head down and sweating his ass off. He walks until he's lightheaded and dizzy with heat and has to sit on the curb for several minutes. He'd like to go to the store and get a soda or some water, but all he's got in his pockets is forty cents and that's not going to buy shit, so as soon as he can, he walks back to the house.

Lena's car is gone from the driveway when he gets back. Sam forgot his keys too, so he hops the gate and goes around to the back, lets himself in. He doesn't get three steps before Dean's tugging him in the laundry room, closing the door and shoving him up against it, arms held up over his head. "Where the fuck did you go?" Dean groans, his face pressed into Sam's neck to lick and suck at Sam's sweaty-slick skin. His hips grind against Sam, already hard, eager. "Christ, I looked all over the house for you. I was getting worried."

"I just needed to get out of here," Sam says. He wants to turn Dean away, perfectly aware of what brought this on. He wants to be strong enough to not be Dean's proxy. But as Dean falls down to his knees and pushes Sam's shirt up to pepper his belly with kisses, Sam's fingers thread into Dean's hair and he lets his head fall back to thunk into the door hollowly.

"I missed you," Dean says, muffled by skin, his teeth nipping at Sam's belly button. He unbuttons, unzips Sam's jeans, tugs them down Sam's thighs. He buries his face in Sam's pubes, nuzzling Sam's pelvis, his cock, his balls. "I know you hate her…but it's just for a little while. Just til the baby is born." He looks up at Sam, his eyes simultaneously lust-dark and pleading. "Then it'll be us again."

"Yeah," Sam says, mostly because he knows it's what Dean needs to hear from him. Dean tugs on his hips and Sam slides down the door to straddle Dean's legs.

"God, can you believe it?" Dean whispers, his hands sliding under Sam's shirt, waking Sam's skin to shivering life. "Another baby. My baby." He strips the shirt over Sam's head and licks from Sam's ribs to the pit of his throat. " _Our_ baby."

**Author's Note:**

> I debated whether to post this and the later Lightverse stories; this and the later stories make a significant time jump in which really important details have gone missing. Like: how did Lena get pregnant again, when/how Sam got the job at the bakery, etc. My plan was always to write the connecting stories, but it didn't happen. I still hope that someday they WILL (I have so much still locked up in my head), but I don't know when or if. This was a lot easier when it was just stuff I was posting to my personal LJ. But it does seem important to post what I have written, so hopefully people here will be as forgiving as they were on LJ.


End file.
